A Man of His Word
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: Drabble. Hawthorne hates being idle during his recovery, so he lets Alcott lure him into conversation to quell his guilt. *Set after the boat & dock explosion; onesided?Hawthorne/Mitchell.


**A Man of His Word**

A Bungou Stray Dogs drabble

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Bungou Stray Dogs_ characters belong to Asagiri Kafuka-sensei, not to me. Hawmitch is my first BSD OTP, though prolly my 2nd love… ;w; Read, review, and enjoy!

\- ^-^3

After exploding at Fitzgerald for landing them in this situation, Hawthorne had to admit…it likely had been futile, making threats against such a man. Hawthorne knew his own ability very well and was quite good with it, but Fitzgerald had near endless funds at his disposal. He could just as easily remove Hawthorne from the Guild if he felt that the man of God had lost sight of things.

Hawthorne sat down gingerly on his medical cot, making a face at such a thought. His eyes dropped to the floor of the medical bay and skittered across the cold tiles until they landed on the edge of the other, also occupied cot. And he had to take several calming breaths before he sneaked a look at the face almost unrecognizable beneath the bandages.

Someone knocked at the door then, and the Guild's strategist stuck her head in. "Mr. Hawthorne? Is everything all right?"

He glanced at her and sat up straight on his cot, acting as though he hadn't been looking at the other patient. "Yes, Miss Alcott."

Alcott furrowed her brow, which did nothing to help her permanently mousy demeanor. "I…well, I thought I heard shouts a few minutes ago…"

Hawthorne sighed, wincing as he got back under the covers. Everything ached and hurt after the boat and dock had exploded. "Yes, that was me. I lost my cool."

Her mouth popped open, forming a tiny, childish "O" as she entered the medical bay. She took a few steps towards his cot and helped with his blankets after he reluctantly nodded that he could use the assistance. "How unusual," she said. "I thought I saw Mr. Fitzgerald leaving here."

"Yes. I yelled at him." There was no point in lying about anything. Lying was a sin, and Hawthorne was trying to behave after doing something he felt was also shameful in front of his Creator, i.e., threatening to take the life of another.

But, it _was_ in exchange for someone else's life…so it could be justified. Couldn't it?

Hawthorne glanced at the other cot again before addressing Alcott since she seemed so keen on conversing. "I let my temper get the best of me," he confessed, and he sighed as he tried to recline comfortably in his bed.

Alcott peered, too, at the other occupant. "Has she woken up at all since…?"

"The medical officers said she did, once, but they had to sedate her." He gritted his teeth. "Miss Mitchell's injuries are very serious."

"Grave?" The word was barely a whisper on Alcott's lips, but he didn't blame her for sounding scared. He…he felt that way himself.

"They didn't tell me." Which was true. They'd told him very little. Mostly he'd learned things by eavesdropping. But he didn't really have to _hear_ the doctors and nurses say anything; one could take a very well-educated guess just by looking at Mitchell.

Alcott edged a bit further towards his cot—further from the scary sight that was his laid-up partner, he noted. She chewed her lower lip. "I wish I could've foreseen the Port Mafia's attack…"

"We got ahead of ourselves," he assured her, though he, too, felt a stab of anger at her for that, for what good was her ability if she couldn't have predicted the explosion? "The Japanese are craftier than we thought."

She whimpered and hung her head, clearly not believing him. But at least she caught him wincing again. "Oh, I'm very sorry, Mr. Hawthorne! I'll let you rest now."

"Yes, please do."

Alcott nodded to him by way of parting. Then she scurried out of there, her dress bustling behind her.

He watched her go, but his mind wandered as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Alcott was so very plain compared to Mitchell, who coordinated her hat and even that forsaken _parasol_ with her outfit. Really, women and their frivolities…

Hawthorne frowned and got out of bed once more. He grabbed his crutch and tucked it under his arm as he hobbled over to his partner's bedside. It was such a sad sight, seeing Mitchell lain out like this. He hated seeing her this way, and…frankly, he even missed her idle chatter and her flirtations. He'd turned her down every single time, because he'd all but sworn his life to the Word.

Yet he didn't fight the desire to reach for her hand now and give it a gentle squeeze. Had he not been so sure it'd harm her, he might've even lifted it to his lips and kissed the back…but he daren't move her, for her recovery's sake.

If she truly did survive this ordeal, he vowed not to resist her next invitation to a meal or to a walk or what have you, as in love with love itself as she was to the point where perhaps she wasn't wholly serious in her pursuit of him. And if she didn't survive…

Hawthorne whispered a quiet prayer under his breath for Mitchell. And then he asked God for forgiveness, for he was determined to make good on his threat to Fitzgerald should the latter case be the one to come true.

\- ^-^3

 **:') Y'know, it's actually a little refreshing, writing someone like Hawthorne… But AGH. When Mitchell protected him and took on the brunt of the attack from Kajii, I kind of wanted to cry… ;w; Even more so when I read that one of her "likes" is tomorrows… I want her and Hawthorne to have a tomorrow…! Dx So no more turning her down, Hawthorne, damn you…!**

 **Thanks for reading, and please review!**

 **-mew-tsubaki :')**


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